We learned that Halloween wasn’t the same here. For one thing, the owner of many of the stores downtown dressed up in costumes for the business day. The owner at King’s Market, Vi King, was always a witch in black gown and high pointy hat. There was a funny attitude all the costumed people seemed to have, like it was perfectly ordinary and nothing was unusual in their dress.

Next, because many of us lived on acreage away from each other, it was necessary to go to our trick or treating exercises in a car. We would carefully plan on when each of us would be home, then work our car visits around that. The result was that we maybe went to somewhere between three and six places at the most.

Mostly, on Halloween, I remember taking the kids to Clyde and Ruth Sundstrom’s farm. They had such a great sense of humor they had named their barn the Barn Marche and that’s where they’d have garage sales. Clyde was one of the Sundstrom four brothers who had lived on the land since he was a boy. He married Ruth Guard, daughter from another farm family. Their turn of the century farmhouse was the scene of much family activity year round. Clyde was still farming then, and he had some nice horses. Every now and then he’d hitch up the horse to the cart and drive to the town of Friday Harbor, taking the cart down San Juan Valley Road. The special thing about Halloween was that Ruth would always make homemade donuts that night in honor of Clyde’s birthday which was on Halloween. There was no getting around the fact that you’d have to go into their warm kitchen for a spell and then each of your children would get a good teasing from him.

It was an island wedding, with guests from afar and just down the road. A home-grown island girl and the guy she met at college were getting the royal send-off. But first, the energetic band was going to play the music that seemed to suit all the generations present: Rock and Roll. Little girls in pretty dresses flounced around in their filmy skirts and boys in cowboy hats jumped up and down to the beat on the wood floor that had been put together for the day.

It felt like the old island, when people came together and knew just about everyone because there were so few people residing here. The Gigantic Garry Oak trees that the first farmer had left in this field stood over it all. This family farm had been owned by several generations of the same family The beautiful bride in her ivory satin gown had been married there under the trees in the exact same spot as her parents were wed. I thought how proud her grandparents would have been of her on this day. Everything seemed to have come full circle.

Does it feel healthy to live here? That’s an interesting question for someone who has lived here since 1977; therefore someone who is getting older. Still, the answer would have to be affirmative. I don’t think about how healthy the environment is until I remove myself from it. Washing my face at a Seattle hotel will quickly show the grime of a city on the pristine white washcloth. The air here might smell a bit salty when the tide is out at False Bay, but it doesn’t smell like exhaust fumes. It is quiet enough to allow for you to hear a bird’s song and the bee’s bumble, sometimes even the swoop of a raptor’s wings. At night, the stars are visible in a clear sky. And now, in June, the smell of freshly cut hay and the clunk-clunk of the bailer may greet you on a two lane valley road.

They say that as we get older, views and vistas become more important. San Juan Island Realtors do not even use the word “view” unless it relates to a salt water view; however there are many lovely mountain, pond, and territorial views as well. There are few island roads that do not give you a glimpse of the surrounding Salish Sea, reminding you that you are on an island. You feel a sense of community with the people on the isle where you live and a sense of protection and serenity that places you far from the maddening world. To my way of thinking, it’s healthy to live here in mind and body.

Recent sales for the Senior Class and for the Boaters were held in larger venues than your typical garage sale, where many years worth of accumulations were visible at one stop. At the school gym the senior parents were convincing in their persuasive efforts to shoppers, motivated by the knowledge that they would have to dispose of everything when the sale was over before school commenced on Monday. At the fairgrounds there were even boats for sale as well as other nautical items. Prices seemed high at many of the booths, as the vendors had their table rental costs to cover. I believe most of the vendors had fun trading with each other, though, and the baked goods were going fast as people walked around with their mugs of coffee, joking with each other. The Saturday scroungers are my private appellation for the garage sale fans. I feel lucky to live somewhere that really does care about recycling, where the person next to you at a tag sale may be a millionaire or just your average Joe, looking for a glimpse into the past or an idea for the future.